When did The Classroom become The Zoo?

A story tells itself to me in words, phrases, impressions, insistences, images, and sometimes song lyrics. The story that wants to be told will not leave until I have paid attention to it, strung together the disparate parts and connected the dots, even though I may be trying to make sense of it in the dark, and in unfamiliar territory.

First, I will tell you about the mine fields, and how I problem solved. I will tell you that always after I substitute taught, my sleep was riddled with disturbing dreams.

Then I will offer ideas, and out-of-the-box solutions.

WARNING: Disturbing Content Follows.

I substitute teach in northern California. I had been a teacher’s assistant in southern Oregon; geographically, there was no difference. What follows happened over the course of four days in four different schools, and in different class periods.

THE MINE FIELDS IN 2 DAYS IN THE UPPER GRADES

A: The teacher left notes for each period and what was allowed. The “allowed” covered only going to the Library. Even before the roll was taken, students would ask to go to the Library. “My teacher lets me do it. I can show you a signed document that says I can go to the Library. If you don’t believe me, I can text the teacher.”

The third sentence told me that now I was in the EWZ – the Electronic War Zone: a student countermanded my telling him NO, he could not go to the Library, and then, pulling out his phone as if it were a weapon, started to text the teacher to tell her that I would not let him go! This, on a day, when the teacher had taken a medical leave; the students knew this was the reason for her absence.

I was not only in the EWZ, I was in the Twilight Zone; the one caveat that the teacher had was that the Library Pass was to be given to students without a phone.

Paranoia set in 15 minutes later, when a student walked into my classroom with two green slips. I was afraid to take them; the thought that went through my mind was that the student had texted the Front Office, and I was now being told that I had to let this and another student who had requested to go the Library (the latter’s excuse was that he didn’t have the book he was supposed to be reading) – now go to the Library; however, the slips were for two other students whose presence was requested in the Work Force Room.

Let me tell you about the latter student: he was supposed to be reading Frankenstein but didn’t have the book with him. I suggested that he use his phone to research the book’s historical context. He’d said he’d already done that, and now had about 20 more pages to read. My suggestion then, since he didn’t have the book, was to research the author, Mary Shelley. This suggestion went in one ear and out the other. Then I looked at the books on the shelf in the classroom; lo and behold, Frankenstein! I handed it to the student, and then attended to the ambient chaos in the room. NOTE: This student had no curiosity to explore the classroom for this book. If a class is studying a book, there’s a high probability a copy is on the teacher’s bookshelf.

About 10 minutes after I handed the book to this student, he had ear phones connected to his phone, which was on his desk; phones were supposed to be out of sight. Since I had given clear instructions about phones, and, since I had found this student the book he needed, there was no reason for him to be on the phone texting. I pulled the phone out of the connection. He sprang at me like a wild animal, and told me that I was responsible for telling his grandmother why he was disconnected. I replied that his responsibility was to read the book, and, it was his responsibility to tell his “grandmother” what had happened.

B: I had asked students to focus on their assignment, which was to read two pages on Shakespeare and his theatre. They were to use their phones only for research. I told this 8th grade class that I wasn’t going to police them and their phones; that was a mistake. NOTE: Out of this class of 20, three students had a book open and were working on their assignments. The rest? I could tell by the actions of their digits that it was not research.

C: After I told students that no phones were allowed, and that if I saw a phone on the desk, or being manipulated inside or under the desk, then I would take it away. One girl brazenly had her phone out and was texting. I liberated it. “Will I get it back?” she asked, before she stormed out. When I questioned the class as to the student’s problem, one bright light, without missing a beat, said: “She’s addicted.”

D: In every classroom, I had to move students to another part of the room because small disruptive enclaves of talking formed; I broke it up because there were students trying to work and concentrate. That, and it’s disrespectful.

ET AL

As the Comic Relief in one period – perhaps one of Shakespeare’s clowns – there was the student who used a large 1980’s vintage dictionary as a vertical chin rest after I asked him to look up a word he didn’t know.

Then the unthinkable happened: Two students walked out. I followed to call them back. When I returned, there stood a third student with her backpack, and a grin. “You think this is funny?” I asked. “Yes.” I turned around to look again for the truants when the young woman slipped past me. I then had to retake the roll.

HOW I SEE MYSELF AS A SUBSTITUTE TEACHER

I have a responsibility to safeguard those in my classroom. When the three students left, words cannot convey my panic: What if there’s someone in that hallway they just ran out into – who’s not supposed to be there? What if I hear gun fire in the next few minutes? Why can’t I lock the door from the inside?

It was ironical that a student remarked that this period had been the quietest all day! Curious that the “quiet” he described was still a din, a roar, and a chattering of voices that I would not have used the word “quiet” in any proximity to. How were students learning?

IS ANYONE READING THE SIGNS?

I was called “bitch” multiple times in the upper grades, and sometimes more than once in the same period.

Even though there was a sign on the door to fill your water bottle before you came to class, go to the bathroom before you came to class, students asked permission to do both; sometimes, they walked out without permission. My paranoia surfaced every time that door was opened.

At the end of the day, as I walked to the Front Office to turn in my key, I overheard a student talking to a girl at his locker: “She sent three students out on a B-5.” (A B-5 is when a student has been disruptive, will not listen to requests to pipe down, stay in their seat, do their work et al.) I could not resist: “Yes, I sent three students out in one period.” Was there pride in my voice or something else? Had I exerted authority where their teacher had not? Was this the authority they needed to see so that the “quiet” that one student described would begin to register as a possible sound setting in their classroom?

THE SONG LYRIC THAT PLAYED IN MY HEAD

Cat Stevens’ “Sad Lisa”:

“She hangs her head and cries on my shirt She must be hurt very badly Tell me what's making you sad, Li?”

The connection was immediate. I looked at students, necks craned, and fingers mad with expression on a small keyboard that would never love them back. Not in the way they needed. I looked at students starved for attention, but their world had abandoned them and they were suckling now on the teats of the ether. I looked at students who would soon crash and do it head first, because of the effects of cell phones and brain pattern interference. I looked at students who most likely would never experience the “sound” of Shakespeare’s plays. What prompts this reference? I looked at the textbooks – someone had dumbed down the Bard’s words to something akin to Cliff Notes.

THE MINE FIELDS IN 2 DAYS IN THE LOWER GRADES

In the first period class, there were three “regular” teachers with me. They were soon to leave for their meetings, which is why I was there. I was calling the students to attention, asking them to work at their own desks, and do the assignment. The sound was still a roar. One of the “regulars” remarked: “There are four teachers in this classroom, and there’s still talking.” The problem was that she stated it as a declarative sentence. There were no consequences for actions. I had learned, in my brief tenure, that communicating, and demonstrating, that actions have consequences, was a keystone.

FIRST GRADE

There was one assistant, but there was still that “roar” of noise. IN FIRST GRADE. Students were out of their seats and bounding around like gazelles. Something I find myself consistently saying to students is: “This is a classroom. I expect quiet, and respect for your fellow students. You can socialize all you want outside the classroom” – but this fell on deaf gazelle ears.

What I noticed, on some of these faces, were looks of earnest endeavor. They wanted to learn, they were being quiet, and they were being respectful. I found myself whispering to them at day’s end – thank you for your good behavior, thank you for your quiet presence. Something reassuring to let them know that they were fine. I noticed something else on these faces. The look of terror. The look of ‘Please help me. I’m drowning. I want to learn but I’m drowning.’ Their silence was deafening. Their looks haunted me.

In this class, the teacher had written the letters PART on the board, with a line after the T for the word Y. When the Y was earned, then they could have a popcorn party. One student let me know that I could take away a letter if the class was misbehaving. When the noise became unbearable and my repeated requests went unheeded, I heard a collective gasp as I erased the T. In the course of two hours, another letter was gone.

The assistant at the back of the room told me that the students were always like this with substitutes. One of the students even sassed her back; this did have consequences, and the student was taken next door for a “time out” with another teacher. I also had to take more than one student next door, and one girl cried because she didn’t like that teacher. I reminded her that I had repeatedly asked her to keep quiet, to work at her desk, and she had ignored me. Does a seven year old understand the words: “Your actions have consequences”? I know they do; the problem is that it hasn’t been reinforced.

I lost track of the number of students I sent for a “time out.” I called the Front Office twice. The first time, the Principal took the problem student with him; the second time, he sat at the back of the class – and I couldn’t believe my ears – there was still that “roar” of noise. Again, I asked students to keep quiet, to do their work, to stay in their seats. I pointed to the letters left on the board: “If this behavior keeps up, I will not hesitate to erase the remaining letters.”

I hated to say this, but I had to stay true to my word. By the end of the day, all the letters were gone. And with it I offered these words: “I know that all of you were not misbehaving. And to you, I apologize. I encourage you to speak to your classmates who cost you the PARTY. Tell them it was not OK for them to lose you the PARTY. Tell them you’re angry, if that’s what you feel.”

The last period of this day was a sad one. One of the students had a birthday and her mother arrived with cupcakes. The class gathered around the table and sang “Happy Birthday.” But something was terribly wrong. They screeched the song. It hurt my ears so I moved away. I noticed a little girl standing away also, with her hands over her ears, crying. I asked her what was wrong. No answer. One of her classmates told me she had sensitive ears and that the noise had burst her eardrums. I held that sobbing girl as her classmates demolished their cupcakes. One little boy kindly asked what was wrong, and for the first time that day, I saw empathy. I took the girl to the Nurse’s Office but discovered there wasn’t any. So she sat in the Front Office till the end of the period.

What conclusions do you draw from children who screech “Happy Birthday?”

I cried on the drive home. The Classroom had changed into The Zoo, and, a veritable War Zone. I was not a substitute teacher but a Policing Force. And I didn’t like how that made me feel. What I did feel was worried about the futures of these children. I worried for sensitive ears. I worried for the good students who would be bullied by the disruptive ones. I worried for the brokenness.

In the Teacher’s Lounge, a teacher shed light on the behavior problems: Since this city in northern California (pop 7,700) is small, everyone knows everyone else. Ah, there’s the rub. Fear. Fear that a child will say that Teacher So and So, who is a neighbor, a relative, a fellow churchgoer, called them on their bad behavior. Yes, there’s the rub. Do you value more not rocking the relational boat of your neighbors and community, or do you value the future of your children?

IDEAS & OUT-OF-THE-BOX SOLUTIONS

1. Have B-5 passes [or any other disciplinary paperwork] filled out ahead of time!

2. At the beginning of the class, as a substitute, make it clear what the teacher has left behind in notes. If something was supposed to be in those notes, ask the students to be proactive and talk with the teacher so it’s on the Next List for the Next Substitute.

3. All cell phones are handed over at the beginning of class. Each student has a bin in which that cell phone is placed, and that bin is as far away from the student as possible. Mental health specialists are present when this handover takes place. Better yet, all phones are collected at the entrance to the school. Even better, schools are No Cell Phone Zones. NOTE: I substituted on the day that there was a scheduled walkout in memory of Columbine, and about a month after Parkland. Students told me that the school had called parents to tell them the walkout was not sanctioned. If there’s time to call for this, there’s time to call about a new cell phone policy.

4. Classrooms that lock from the inside.

5. Actions have consequences. And not empty ones; make the consequences meaningful.

6. Design chairs that anchor students to their seats. (My whimsical bent.)

7. No sugar in the classroom; and, teach healthy eating habits. (My healthy eating bent.)

8. Use Himalayan Salt Lamps. (My healthy environmental bent.)

WHERE ARE THE ADULTS?

The bright light who called the problem as it was – nailed it. There is an addiction to cell phones in the classroom. Remove cell phones, and we won’t lose students as quickly as if they took a needle and injected meth or heroin. Remove cell phones, and we won’t lose students as quickly as a gun. Remove cell phones, and we won’t lose students as quickly as if they had stepped into a classroom bereft of authority. And that is the second addiction – the fear of exerting authority. Kids are dying for direction. Yes, they’re testing the waters, their boundaries, and their muscles. This is what they’re supposed to do because they instinctively know that they will soon be out in a world where there are unknown forces, and who can calculate their direction, speed, and ferocity? They are practicing for this, as did you. So I ask – where are the adults? Where is the voice of authority? And speaking of adults, when did teachers start dressing sloppier than their students?

I heard a story on the radio that parents are as much to blame because they text their children during the day at school. Stop it. Set up rules.

PARENTS:

I call the Front Office only if there is an emergency.

You call from the Front Office only if there is an emergency.

Let’s define what constitutes an emergency.

SCHOOL:

Rule 1: Cell phones are not permitted.

Rule 2: If there is a student emergency [which is defined as…] then come to the Front Office.

Rule 3: If there is a parent emergency [which is defined as…] then parents will call the Front Office.

NOTE: We have created, with our technology, a false sense of urgency when there may not be an “urgency.” So this is also about slowing down and reassessing priorities.

If something isn’t attempted soon, we will lose our children to the Pied Piper of Cell Phones and its concomitant addictions. Are we willing to let our children disappear in that direction?

None of this, of course, will happen. Why? Because it requires an about face, and a facing of where we’ve failed. It requires a facing down of how technology has seduced us into a false universe, a universe that will not love us back the way we, as humans, were designed to be loved back.

LOST TEACHING OPPORTUNITIES

During one assignment, I had to call the Front Office; this was before the period the three students walked out. The Vice Principal came to my door. Before he spoke to the class, he told me in the hallway: “When a class is this disruptive, it reflects on the teacher, not on you.”

“Loosey Goosey” was the phrase he used to describe the teacher’s discipline style.

Teachers, I envy the potential for change that you hold. In these four substitute teaching days, there were a handful of “teaching opportunities.” A chance to make a difference, to see a light go on. A chance to connect the dots for a young mind, but a handful is not good enough. I would rather have a handful of moments where I had to exert discipline and order; otherwise you’re wasting my time.

HOW MUCH DO WE LOVE OUR CHILDREN?

Do we love them enough to consider change? To wean them away from cell phones?

When I start a class, I tell them my name. I tell them that I don’t stand on formality, and they can call me Barbara or Ms. Genovese. But, I tell them, I do stand on respect. I tell them (if an upper grade) that cell phones are not allowed, and that if I see one, I will take it, and they or their parents will have to pick it up at the Front Office. I tell them that they will get two warnings if they are disruptive, then they will be sent to the Front Office. And I follow through.

THREE GOOD MOMENTS

First, when subbing for a 7-8th grade teacher, the teacher next door told me, at the end of the day, that my classroom was the quietest he’d ever heard it. This was the second time (first a student, now a teacher) that I’d been told that my classroom was quieter than usual, quieter than expected. Perhaps I had created the quiet that students and next door teachers had been hoping for. Maybe, I mused, they needed a sound model.

It was in this same class that the second good moment happened:

The class was reading one of S.E. Hinton’s novels. The teacher had left a note which said that he read the stories to the class. I questioned the students. “Why is this?” Answer: “Because we’re not good readers.”

Ah, Teaching Opportunity. “I don’t believe that for a moment – you all have voices. Who wants to read?”

Hands shot up. But first, I asked if someone would provide a synopsis of the story so far. A young man raised his hand. I asked all students, when responding or reading in this class, to be on their feet. He stood up, opened his mouth, and eloquence ensued. No ums, no word fillers, no pauses. I complemented him, the readings began, and we were off into unchartered territory. Guess what? They were all good readers.

This is their time of discovery, their time to shine, not your time to live the theatre career you wish you’d chosen. Or to save time because you think you can read better. So what if you can? These students have a steeper learning curve than you. Why are you holding their brilliance and their expression captive?

Third, when subbing for a 1st grade teacher, my exasperation sat me down on the top of a desk, in the lotus position, at the end of a very very long day, to demonstrate meditation – that’s how desperately I needed peace and quiet. I showed the children how the thumb touches the first finger, and, without my prompting, a few, seated on the carpet, began to chant “OM.” That classroom was the quietest it had been all day. When I reflected on this, I realized that I had not mentioned the word “OM.” NOTE: This is the same class that ten minutes later screeched “Happy Birthday.”

THE WORD RESPECT

Who can blame students who cannot spell respect? I listen to the news and the way people interrupt, talk over, talk simultaneously – and I ask again, who can blame students?

I’ve been guilty of all of the above conversation infractions. But something has shifted. e.g. – When on the telephone (and it’s usually the telephone where this happens) I find myself saying a few things:

1. “Please don’t tell me you’ll find a quick answer, or put me on hold for a quick second. That false sense of urgency is not coming from me. Take the word quick out. Find the answer, however long it takes.” What has happened as a result? I’ve been pleasantly surprised, and often thanked, because they appreciated my suggestion to slow down and focus.

2. When someone interrupts me in my explanation, I say: “Excuse me. If you keep interrupting, then we’re going to have a much longer conversation than you intended. Let me state why I’m calling, then I will listen to your response.”

THE SUBSTANCE OF MY PLEA

Take your time. Let me be present in this conversation and not feel like I’m on an assembly line. What I have, all I have, is my humanity. I’m not a machine so don’t treat me like one. Once you see that I’m not a machine, I’m not a technology, I’m not like that phone tethered to your umbilical, perhaps then we can have a conversation. Perhaps then you will see that I have a face; that emotions register there, and in my voice. Perhaps then you will stay long enough to reconnect to our shared humanity; after all, that is all we have. That, and this moment.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately of the movie The Day the Earth Stood Still. What if that happened and all electricity was halted – when we looked in the non-electrical mirrors, who would we see?

ZOMBIES

I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about them. After substitute teaching, I now understand their pervasive presence in our literature and movies because they are already among us. We’re creating pods of them.